Morning Entries

Ashley Meyers

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SOCIETY & CULTURE
UPDATED DAILY

My personal morning diary serves as a dose of reflection, pondering and musings. Cozy up with your morning beverage of choice and take moment of pause with me. My hope is that they these short pieces spark something in you for your own personal Morning Entry. diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com

JAN 27

Soulmates

Sometimes, I think you get the worst of me, but today it was clear that I have simply given you all of me. I have allowed myself to be my best and my worst in your presence and more than anything I have been more than what I knew. The better version of mothering and care and you’re the loving proof of my all. You tell me today how you wish you knew more of me. To have seen me at 7 or 13 and a glimpse of me at 21, filled belly with all 10 pounds, of you. How it could have been to be my friend on all the playgrounds of all the cities I was dropped into and if a hug from you would have changed the trajectory of my life and if having a friend like you would have steered my heart to choose better than your Father. You reach for me and my hands release the coffee cup I’m using as a security blanket and in that moment I feel love billow from your hands all the force of life lives in one single brush of your skin, milky and young and of my own DNA and in that moment I can almost feel a lifetime that we once lived out - not as mother and daughter but as soulmates on a playground best friends holding each other in a love that can only be known through many life times lived side by side. Get full access to Diary of a Life Well Lived at diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com/subscribe

2 min
12/01/2025

Measurements of life

The heart wants what the heart wants as though the soul has already known the destined path ahead and does not caution the human about the bumps and bruises, joys and sorrows for how can one fully understand the ecstasy that comes from love at the highest form in tandem with the duality of suffering once that love ends? our small brains would never quite understand the concept with the experience of its touch for the human begs to be protected from scars it has yet to carry on its own flesh And yet love is simple and the only truest currency along with time, of course the pair measures this life- provides bliss and yet mocks us in the process Candles flicker and provide a room of lifeshared meals and the type of all-consuming love that only bodies can feel And then all at once the flames flicker out and remind us that time will always win and every moment is to be enjoyed – the good, bad and mundane. The light will always have an end just like the days and the years and eventually this life altogether How silly we are to attempt to control the days with such vigor trying to will existence into and onto calendars and clocks. Alarms and schedules. Life laughs at us in the form of hiccups and inopportune long lines. At traffic lights and freeway jams and of course missed flights. And without fail we are all left pointing fingers and playing a tireless game of blame How cute time comes out unscathed in the end – an innocent bystander. I imagine her a cool tall blonde dripped in leather with a mischievous schoolgirl smirk worn like a signature perfume that enters the room before one arrives and lingers well after one departs… Get full access to Diary of a Life Well Lived at diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com/subscribe

3 min
07/23/2025

Morning Entries (Quiet Commitment)

I have no desire for adventures in far off lands Or romantic rendezvous with men that I make up 90% of who they are while they show me a meager 10% of character that intrigues me just enough to entertain messy top lipped sessions in dark corners. And, I clench my breathes awaiting for that vibrant 10% to be unwavering past the first few hours in anticipation for weekends holed up in a bed I call my own if only for the credit card hold with my name on it. And we play house and pretend it’s not as rented a fantasy as the apartment we christen every last inch of. No, now I only desire for a man to waltz into my life in the middle of an ordinary sunny day and declare with every inch of Nobel dullness that he can conjure up and simply declare I’m him and you are her. No more second guessings or tireless games of chase. For we leave all of that to the daredevil amateurs with far too many years left to make mistakes and enjoy the in-between months of sullen broken hearts. I only desire the romantic gestures that comes with assurance and clarity. An old world patina of a life well lived. Fine lines upon a face that have been broken in as slight evidence of summers spent in Mallorca and Puglia and the Moroccan desert. An exhale exists between us in the knowing that this is finally it. A glow of golden safety that only a child of countless abandonments can truly be intoxicated in and drunk off the mundane of quiet commitment. A flash of youth still sparkles in the truth of words exchanged in the hours where the living is less alive and the dead seem to reside. There is no room left for broken promises, unfaithful actions or the otherwise. We settle into a life that is comfortable and familiar as one’s favorite old sweater slipped into after a long day of battling the friends and foe of this life. Yes, quiet commitment sounds right. Get full access to Diary of a Life Well Lived at diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com/subscribe

3 min
06/25/2025

June is an Island

June is an island. And the only inhabitants are my girl and me. June is an island of anticipations and in-betweens Long days of list making and preparations for the voyage ahead. We hold each other tighter these days as death and loss has become real to her - both the loss of people and the fading of childhood she so desires to do over again - even if just the last five years she says, while we lay on her bed in the cocoon of her childhood bedroom. One single wall painted powder pink in the home numbered 45 on a street named after a mountain. Our walks are longer here on our island - there is an awareness of life playing out and we don’t want to miss a moment. So we stop at favorite old trees, breathe in the jasmine that lines the over grown paths we can still walk through with eyes closed. Climb up neighborhoods that played backdrop to seasons of brokenness and bliss and we remember days before the dog and laugh about the scooter that was stolen from the front porch that one summer. She cries in the shower when she thinks I can’t hear her and all that water reminds me of the waves from a very different June on an island off the coast of Spain where I found myself. I whisper a prayer to God that she too find herself like her mother did - but to make it sooner than 36. June on our island feels like the last sip of an Italian cappuccino in the early morning before the day begins That moment of pause and anticipation before a long adventure ahead The familiarity of espresso and thick milk that teases every taste bud - and you can’t tell if it’s the best coffee of your life or the timing and setting The chatter of crowds around you blurs into a symphony of voices turned into your private concerto The relaxed nature of your posture because there is nowhere to be now only someone new to become And the foam lingers upon the top lip as a reminder of the decadence of life once enjoyed June is an island of lingering in the past while we await the boat to our future. Get full access to Diary of a Life Well Lived at diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com/subscribe

3 min
06/04/2025

Morning Entires (borrowed)

Breeze of change teases me on familiar neighborhood walks The thought of being a childless mother comes often enough that we have made friends with one another now and this new relationship invites me to begin the arduous process of untethering an invisible velvet ribbon that runs from my youngest daughter and I Everywhere I turn is a subtle reminder of a magical yet tragic childhood all three of us played out The world is our living museum of a thousand memories I’ve attached the girls names to all of them Wildflowers Old glass jars that filled meticulously made potions of the day Ice cream shops Torn sheets of paper made into delicate Mother’s day cards Court house benches Parking lot that played host to pick ups and drop offs Chipped plates Birds singing Even silent rooms, hold meaning now And yet there is a knowing that even this life we’ve lived has always been on borrowed time that indeed nothing is permeant, every-thing changes nothing and nobody actually belongs to us in the end. I stand on the edge of reflections… that to mother was always a necessary loss to find myself Get full access to Diary of a Life Well Lived at diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com/subscribe

2 min
05/07/2025

Layers

We darted in and out of the winding corridors,cobblestones under our feet. Yellow of lemons battles the yellow of sunshinethat fights its way through lush green cocoons. Leather sandals, thin enough for my blood to glide over generations past, as I stub my foot more times than I can keep track of. Tourists never understand: the true backdrop is in fact not the multicolored dwellings that hug the Tyrrhenian Sea made famous in photos— but rather the climate,which cannot be captured on film. The summer heat is dry yet damp, and all-consuming. Sweat pooling at the nape of my lower back. My body always begging for an Italian of every variety.Even old men hold an odd attraction,and I let my mind play with the idea of being bedded by a tall, tanned man with white hair.My hands entertain how it might feel to get lost—and found— before I’m pulled back to the thickness of citrus in the air, a slight bergamot essence teasing my tongue After all, it is the mission of the momentto find the decadence of lemon creamthat only comes from a place like this. I always smell of sex here. Men fall into my arms, and I secretly love it.She hates it. Her lips say “I love you,” yet her eyes speak a language only souls understand. She fails to realize I am fluent in this foreign tongue. “One Delizia al limone for two people,” in my perfect Italian.She looks at me with an ever-complimentary smile—it's hard to make out the gleam of the knife in her teeth. It was the last meal we shared before the chapter of us was closed and drowned in the very sea we sat admiring that morning over silky full-fat cappuccinos. I felt the end while our spoons scraped through the layers of decadence, a familiar mirror of these friendship layers Thick.Gluttonous.Sweet.Rich. But will make you fat if devoured too many times. Get full access to Diary of a Life Well Lived at diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com/subscribe

3 min
05/07/2025

Morning Entries (Nothingness)

I was definitely born in the right generation this time around. A glowing red society that breeds high achievers and truth seekers. Biohacking, habit stacking, and every inch of one’s day turned into a personal CV—played out like a movie in your mind. This generation feels the crunch of time on our backs. To pause means to acknowledge the dire truth: we are running against a clock. Holding our breaths and waiting for the other shoe to drop. The last straw.The rug to be pulled. While we load our days with something- anything, that might say I was here, even for a little while, and this is what I was able to do with it all. So it’s no surprise that I’m uncomfortable in the doing nothing and in the stillness of life. By the time I drop into my app’s meditation, it’s almost done. But there are moments nowthat have only come with age. I embody some semblance of a wise woman.I cosplay a gray-haired Italian nona. Where I can walk without tech in my ears,listen to birds, and actually hear—between the veil of society and nature’s ancient medicinal melodies. And then there is the coveted five minutes I allowbetween the rituals of a rigorous bedtime routine. It’s rather cruel how the sting of my eyes is the cuefor my hand to relinquish the book from my grip. And only then can I flop over in unison,letting my own pages close for the day. The surrender of the body, bred by the red society,shifts into an ache of nothingness. Her mind loops and spins and twirlswith opening lines of poetry and songs waiting to be composed. The fight to pull her body upfrom the delight of this delicious nothingness—to write it all down in a flurry, in hopes to be one of the greats. The sweet surrender of nothingness wins Get full access to Diary of a Life Well Lived at diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com/subscribe

3 min
04/29/2025

Morning Entries (The gift of being human)

There’s a knowing that comes with age—that everything is, in fact, finite, that loss is on the other side of every joy-filled moment. Years 35, 36, 37, and 38 saw me holding my breath in anticipation for the proverbial other shoe to drop. The heavy, concave ceiling due to crash in over me any day now. And the aged Moroccan rug to be pulled out from underneath the feet I was desperately trying to plant somewhere between the known and foreign versions of a life I was creating. Any sudden movements could spell out disaster. And then there are the moments where finite is replaced with infinite, and you’re somewhere soaring above all anxieties, and lightness all but takes over the entirety of the human body your soul inhabits. You’re united at last with what it might feel like to be a child again—a place where time felt endless and there was no question in your mind that you would awake the next morning, along with all the people you love—safe and sound and ready for more. Next days meant newness and all the unread books of life were stacked higher than your little eyes could make out through the cascade of sun that drenched your days—even in the rain. 39 feels like the marriage of these two foes. A truce was called after they realized there would never be a clear winner, that the finish line is indeed death at the end of every road. So I stand hand in hand with the reality of both. To my left, finite bows her head to my life, exposing every memory made as a reminder to relish in the variety of moments—dare they be traffic lights, brutal fights, and otherwise. To love and cherish my adored ones with everything I’ve got. Hug longer. Feel deeper. Smile with a purpose to cure pain. Allow myself to get drunk off the words that cross the lips of those we love, for we never know what last words our ears may hear. To my right, infinite wears a silk robe in just the right shade of gold, so attractive it lures my librian taste. He is perfumed with the endless possibilities of life, and I am high off the energy of his aura. He reminds me that time is to be used to fulfill my deepest desires. Touch, taste, feel, plan, and execute. Reach high and big and farther. Do it all now; squeeze out every last drop. I guess this is the gift of being human—to feel it all and make peace with the past, present, and future, not favoring one over the other, but enjoying each like a well-balanced meal. Get full access to Diary of a Life Well Lived at diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com/subscribe

6 min

My personal morning diary serves as a dose of reflection, pondering and musings. Cozy up with your morning beverage of choice and take moment of pause with me. My hope is that they these short pieces spark something in you for your own personal Morning Entry. diaryofalifewelllived.substack.com

Creator

Ashley Meyers
Years Active

2025 - 2026
Episodes

36
Rating

Clean
Copyright

© Ashley Meyers
Show Website

Morning Entries